The Messenger (FaramirEomer)
by Anon34567
Summary: Faramir is sent to Rohan on what he thinks is a simple messenger mission to keep him out of Denethor's sight. However, Denethor's plan turns out to be much more twisted that Faramir or Boromir could imagine...
1. Chapter 1

I sighed. The doors of the Great Hall shut behind me in a final note. The guards were indifferent as I sat down on the steps. I put my head in my hands and pushed my fingers into my eyes until the colours turned sporadic and dark. I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Boromir?"

"It is I." I sighed. "So what did our father say?" He asked.

"He- He's sending me to Rohan. He gave me some letters, and told me to go." I held up a leather package. "There's a horse waiting. I-I'm just supposed to leave." I was in shock.

Boromir was in shock as well. "He- he's just making you leave?"

I nod. "He says I'll be of use to Rohan as an advisor to the king, Theoden. I am well-versed in politics and people. I am well versed in archery and the sword. I will be fine." I say it as much for him as for myself.

"I will speak to him." He has already pushed open the door before I can say no. The door slams shut and I sigh. When will Boromir learn that the Steward, our Father is not to be defied. It is better to obey. It is far better to please him, than to be his enemy. I stand and look out over the plain. Mentally mapping out my route, I'm happily surprised by the fact that I'll be going along some of the river for a while, before I take the road that swings east through the foothills of the White Mountains, and then continues on towards the open plains of the Riddermark, Rohan. I straighten my leather tunic and resignedly wait for Boromir to return.

The plain stretches before the city, the road a silver line that leads towards the river, which glows in the morning sun. The city itself already sings with the songs of woman washing, children playing, and soldiers training. Tiny brown birds, probably sparrows, perch and flutter around the White Tree. My city is beautiful.

I jump as Boromir shoves open the doors in anger. His brow is furrowed and his hands clench within the folds of his fur cloak. "He says that you must go. He says that he alone can decide what to do with you, not I." He stares at the ground, as he often does when he's angry.

Sighing, I start walking down towards the gates that will take me to the Lower Stables. I know he will follow me, and he does, his footfalls heavier and angrier than my own. I slow and allow him to catch up to me. "Boromir, I'm not going to be gone long. I've just got to ride to Rohan, about a week's journey there, and a week back. You will be fine."

He shook his head. "I don't feel good about this. Why can't he send a normal messenger? What's wrong with a courier?"

"I'm acting as ambassador, I think." I put the leather pouch containing the letters into one of the saddlebags. I check that my sword belt is tight, then mount the bay mare. She tosses her head, and I pat her neck. Boromir gives a heavy sigh.

"Are you going to be fine?" He hands me the quiver and bow that had been put near the horse for me. They aren't my own, but they are similar, and would do.

I roll my eyes. "Yes. He is simply sending on a mindless trip to remove me from his presence while I'm on legal leave from Ithilien and my squad."

Boromir nods, looking up at me from the ground. "That seems to be it, but I still feel misgivings about this. Be safe."

"I will return. I can't leave you with Father... he's..." I search for the right words.

"Dry, stuck-up, high-strung, annoying, boring?" Boromir supplies.

We both laugh and I nod. "Yes, that is it." We shake hands as good brothers do, and I guide the mare out of the stables.

"For Gondor!" I shout heroically. Boromir laughs and echoes my sentiment.

"For Gondor and my little brother." I wave to him brightly, knowing I'll be back soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2- Why Isn't This Right

(so I just wanted to warn you guys that this is a slash fic. it probably isn't going to get heated at all, i'm not into that kind of thing really, but kissing and hugging will be in here, and... flowers and stuff? but just so you know. if you're not into slash, this probably isn't the story for you...)

I trot down the road, staying on the correct side. There's a lot of traffic going in and out of the city. Several carts jostle to be the first checked by a guard in brilliant armor, and couriers dash past me and the market carts. A thick hum fills the air, conversation and jangling weapons and creaking carts and saddles weaving together in a tapestry of city life. Every now and again a hound barks at almost nothing. The breeze is cool and the going is easy. The farther I go from the city, the quieter the road becomes.

It also becomes more ragged. Tufts of browning grass spring up between the once neat paving stones. The city glistens behind me, white and austere. The mountains create a dramatic backdrop and pierce the sky. I remind myself to keep moving forward. I push the mare into a canter. We settle into a rhythm and the city drifts out of sight behind the foothills of the White Mountains. With the forests of Ithilien on my right and the mountains on my left, I head north.

The breeze rustles the grass, and I catch sight of something broken and dark. I rein in the mare, whose name I now remember to be Arahimi. She slowly stops and I pull her around. The saddle creaks as I dismount. The grass is at my waist here, and I wade through it towards the jagged something I saw. Arahimi snorts and paws the ground. "Be calm.." I absentmindedly. She quiets. I reach the dark thing. It's a spear, black and jagged, crudely made out of iron. Dark blood is streaked all over it.

It's also speared through a Gondorian soldier. He's been left in full uniform. The White Tree and its stars have been rent in two by the horrid spear. He's already stiff and his face is blank. Yellowing bruises spread from under his collar and his eyes seem to follow me as I kneel down. I close his eyes and pull out the spear. I toss it far into the grass, then start gathering stones for a marker cairn.

All the while, my mind is spinning. How did this happen? This is right by the main road. There should be troops and squadrons all around here. The stretch of grasslands is unusually quiet, like the land is holding its breath. I can see the forest moving in the breeze in the distance. After building the cairn where others would see it, I go after the spear. I pick it up and hold it arm's length. It feels foul and exudes a dark presence. It's covered in a thick coat of rust and blood, and is heavy and unwieldy. Underneath the rust and grime, it's black. Mordor.

How have they advanced this far? Where are the troops that are stationed around here? I put the spear by the soldier as evidence, then look around for anything else. Nothing catches my eye, except a bunch of yellow goldenrod flowers. I tug at them until they give up their hold on the earth. I place them on his chest carefully. I pause silently and send a prayer to the Valar.

Arahimi huffs, reminding me of my mission. I remount and we start out again. The mare is skittish. She's as confused by the dead soldier's presence as I am. After we pass on, she calms down. I, however, am still spinning on it.

It just doesn't seem right.


	3. Chapter 3- I Know Your Secret

I am in Rohan now. Herds of horses stream across the plains in banners of color, or graze through the tall grass. Small villages dot the road, and the people stare at me. Their faces are grimy and their children are already hardened against the world. However, the fields are lush and thick with growing wheat. Their horses are large and happy and many foals run along with their mothers. It is a rich country it seems, rich in beauty. I feel out of place in my heavy uniform and mail. This whole country and its broad, sweeping plain are quiet, only interrupted by the herds of horses that rule it. It is truly the country of the Horse-Lords.

I spend the night in a larger village. It has its own warrior contingent and they talk freely in the tavern about their jobs and the land they range across. I put Arahimi up in the stable and make my way to my room. I didn't realize how tired I was until I sat down on the neatly made bed. It seemed to swallow me up, and I barely have time to take off my chain mail and set it aside before my eyes shut and I drop straight into sleep.

I dream of being back in Minas Tirith. Boromir and I are in some Lower City tavern, and the air is dark and smoky. Laughter flows around the tavern as freely as the ale and mead does. The two of us are slightly drunk, and my mind buzzes happily. The two of us stumble out into the cool nigh air, laughing at how happy we are. "Brother, I must return to my bed now!" Boromir laughed out, and I agreed. We swayed our separate ways. I return to my quarters, stare at myself in the mirror, then pick up some of the things I left out when Boromir snatched me and took me to the Lower City. I flop onto my bed, then jump back up. I see my father glowering at me. He sits at my desk, fiddling with the reports I was writing up about what was happening in Ithilien.

"My son." He sounds bitter, and his eyebrows are permanently arrowed downward. His lips open, not in a smile, but a heavy sneer. He advances until I am backed against the wall, trembling. He only says four words: "I know your secret." My eyes widen.

I sit up, sweating and shaking. I try to calm myself. "He can't know. He can't. How could he know?" I said quietly. The whole inn is dead silent. Everyone is sleeping. I breathe slowly in and out, head between my knees. I focus on the rough floorboards, and after a few minutes, I feel less wretched. "He can't know. There is no way. I do not need to be frightened about this. I have never told anyone, not even Boromir. No one knows." I slowly say. I eventually convince myself that everything is alright, but I am still unable to sleep.

Everything slowly wakes up around me. The sun rises, and soft animal noises can be heard, along with people murmuring last goodbyes to lovers as they get up early. I stare at the thatched ceiling. After a few moments, i drag myself up and pull on my mail again. I drag a few fingers through my knotted hair in the hopes of getting it untangled. It vaguely works and I sigh, still tired and defeated from my nightmare. I pull at them some more as I walk out of the room. A few people are eating by the fire. The innkeeper approaches me. "Was your night restful?" He inquires.

I nod. "It was."

"You look terrible."

I am taken aback by his honesty. I straighten myself and look him in the eyes. "What?"

"You look terrible; was the bed not to your liking? Were you not secure?" He seems genuinely worried about my lack of sleep, and its affect on my appearance.

"No, no. All that was wonderful. I am a poor sleeper as of late, but it has nothing to do with the quality of your inn, which was much to my liking." I smile at him.

"I am relieved. Would you like breakfast?" He offers me some kind of sweet pastry, which I take. I walk out to the stables. My breath fogs the morning air in front of me, and burns my lungs. The stable is cozy with the scent of horse, and a few men are already at work, saddling and harnessing mounts. I brush and saddle Arahimi, who is as tired as I am, it seems. I allow her to nose at her feed as I secure the saddlebags tightly. Something on the far side of the barn catches my eyes.

Two men are struggling to harness a draft horse. They're not struggling because the horse is massive, nor because the harness is heavy and unwieldy. No, they're struggling because of the high amount of distraction they're causing each other. They whisper and laugh... and.. flirt? Is that what they're doing? It becomes more apparent the more I watch. These two men like each other. A lot. The sun's rising rays glint off of two rings. My stomach turns with fear and excitement. Are they... married?

Is that allowed here?

It must be, for them to be so open.

Other men pass them up the central aisle, and none of them look at the pair. In Gondor, they would be shamed, even punished for their actions. They would be seen as unmanly and weak, unproper and unseemly. Here... it is usual it seems. They kiss in the shadow of the horse's neck, happily. As they part, one catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. I feel my face go flush. I swallow and stare at the leatherwork on my saddle for a moment. To stare was not right. Boots enter my vision as I check my mare's bridle, and I dare myself to look up. I do. It's one of them 'Draft-Horse Men', as I have now dubbed them in my mind.

"You are the Gondorian?"

"Yes. I'm traveling to Edoras."

"Nice horse you have... not Rohirrim stock, but... nice lines. Neat. Long, clean legs. Good neck and back. Sturdy. Enduring. I bet she stares less than you though." He jokes.

I swallow, but don't laugh. "I must apologize. I had not realized I was staring until my eyes almost froze within my head."

He laughs as my perceived jest. I smile politely. "Well, that is all right. Gondor must be a stiff, boring country for you to be staring a bearded, horse wrestling couple!"

"It... it is not the custom. It is strange to me, and I am not used to men... being honest about... those kinds of feelings." I state, still grave and slightly nervous.

"There are no... Atimelo? Same lovers? In your country? This.. this saddens me. I feel sorry for your country. Here is it a free place; we love as we wish and feel. To have to love as you are told must be hard."

Atimelo... It came from the Elvish word Atya'mela, or same love. Another word for them was Atya'corm, or same heart. "There are none. They are shamed in our country. It is shameful and weak to be one, and often they just disappear. Or they would disappear. It is long gone, considered a disease to be eradicated." I say, staring at one of the rings in the bridle of my horse.

Horror moves like a tidal wave over his features. He shakes his head sadly. "That is most unfortunate for your country." He pauses. "But.. you are not adverse to Eralas and I-"

I shake my head rapidly. "No! No. I- I do not agree with the law. No harm seems to come of your actions... It is best not to speak of this." I lower my voice.

"You cannot say what you wish?" He seems surprised.

"I must be leaving." I mount Arahimi and move out into the brilliance of the morning. Gondor is full of political and social games centered around power. It is not like Rohan, which is governed by the seasons and its horses. I push Arahimi faster. We will make Edoras tonight if we are swift.

* * *

><p>I trot up to the wooden gate, and the guards move in. "Please state your business. We must know who you are and what business you have with us before we allow you into Edoras."<p>

"I am Faramir, second son of the Steward of Gondor, Lord Denethor, and I request entrance to the city on behalf of him and this business he would have me do here." I stare at them proudly. The White Tree glitters in the lowering, ruddy sun.

They nod. "You may pass." Arahimi fidgets as they open the gate, and we surge foward, straight up the streets to the Golden Hall. People stare at us, and move aside, away from the thudding hooves. I dismount at the foot of the steps, and take the leather packet. I open it and look through the letters. One for Theoden, one for his Second Marshal and son, Theodred, one for his sister-son, Eomer, who was his Third Marshal, if I remembered correctly. And... one for me. I would look at that later. A waiting guard took my mare's reins, and I walked up the steps.

A man in full mail approaches me. "I am Hamling. You are...?"

"Faramir, second son of the Steward of Gondor, Lord Denethor. I am here to deliver some messages."

He frowns. "It does not bode well that the Steward sends his son, albeit his second on such an errand as this. Is your land to overrun that the Steward must use one of his own sons to carry messages to this court?"

"I do not know why he sends me; I just know that I am to do his bidding in all matters."

"I see." He gives a wave of his hand, and the door to The Golden Hall opens. The Hall itself is dim and smoky, but neat and clean nonetheless. I stride forward. Even in the dim light, my eyes catch light glinting off of warrior's mail and armor. Theoden sit on his throne, watching me stride towards him. A man at his right hand looks almost like him: hawk nose, piercing eyes, tan skin, brown hair. That must be Theodred, Second Marshal of the Mark, and his son. The man a step lower on his left has longer, blonde hair and fathomless, deep eyes. His eyebrows drew together as he watched me proceed. Other advisors stood nearby. The green flag of Rohan is displayed behind the throne. I stop five paces from the throne and kneel.

"Theoden King." I wait for acknowledgment.

"Rise, Faramir, Second Son of the Steward of Gondor. What is your purpose here?"

I stand but maintain a respectful distance. "I am here to deliver letters to you and your Marshals that are of utmost importance and that the Steward wishes you to answer as soon as you may." I take the leather packet from under my arm, and display it prominently in front of me.

The king nods. "Well... I've got nothing else to do at the moment. Let us see the letters." I take them out and hand them to each of their respective receivers with a bow.

The crinkling parchment and crumbling wax fills the hall. I feel the weight of my own. The three of them scan the letters, then look at each other, then at me, then back at each other.

"I see now why your father did not send a courier." Theoden murmurs. "You are to stay here. You are a gift from the Gondorian court, to the Rohirrim court, as it were."

I froze. My father... gave me away? Just... gave me away?

"You did not know this." Theodred says, watching my face.

"I was not aware of the change. Very well." They begin discussing the letter among themselves. I pull out my own and read it, hoping for some explanation.

_Faramir: _

_You are hereby banished from the realm of Gondor on account of murder and weak relations unbefitting a man of your race and lineage. _

_I know your secret my son. You are weak, and will never be good for my line. The murder is just a cover to keep you from returning to us. I will not have a weak son. The Rohirrim may use you however they see fit. You are to do whatever they ask of you. You are a gift to them, from me, as it were. _

The letter continued, basically telling me I was never allowed back in my home, and that I was to stay in Rohan until the time of my father's death. I felt sick and weak as I refolded the parchment and put it back in the envelope. I resettled my stance as I waited for the three Marshals to finish talking. Eomer walked over to me. "Faramir is it?"

"Yes. Eomer?"

"Yes. I'll take you to your new quarters."


	4. Chapter 4- How?

He opens a richly carved door. "These will be your quarters." The two rooms are bare of anything except basic things, like a bed, a fireplace, some wood, and a bowl and pitcher. Light streams in through a tall window on the far side, and a rug is spread over the trunk at the foot of the bed. I nod and place my letter on the table. "Thank you."

Eomer smiles. "Tell me about Gondor, for I am curious. It is a place I have never been to."

"It is home to a proud people, fair, tall. It is rich in trade and knowledge, and is the center of law among the kingdoms of Men." I say as we emerge back into the Great Hall. "We have an organized military with many different types of soldiers. Our kingdom ranges from Ithilien to Dol Amroth, and supplies are brought up the river." My own voice sounds dull, recited to my ears.

Eomer raises one dark eyebrow. "What is your country really like?"

I pause, then close my mouth to think. "The people are loyal. The men of my troop respect me, and would not betray me. The daughters of the city are fair, almost as fair as the White City itself. I love the children. They bring the men flowers at times, so that we may place them on the tombs of long dead queens." I have kept a single blossom, preserved in a scrap of leather tied around my wrist.

"You do not keep the flowers?" He asks.

"Of course not. They are for the queens."

"In Rohan, we believe in beauty. It is that the children give, not what, and not how much, nor of what value the item is. I have many rocks, flowers, and grass bracelets, given to me by the children. In truth, my room is laden with the silly things."

"You've kept all of them?"

"Yes..." He admits.

I swallow. I'm not asking that question. I should however. I won't. Eomer won't tell me probably. He might though. I wrestle back and forth in my mind of my question. "How was your journey here?"

"It was well enough. Long. My mare was a good companion."

"Ah, your mare. I would like to see the stock of Gondor! Door Warden!" He shouts at a man. The man scurries over.

"Eomer?"

"Which stable did you put his mare in?" He inquires.

"Upper Western side. Next to your own horse, if I remember correctly."

"Thank you very much." We're out of the hall in a flash, and Eomer is leading me down a path through paddocks towards a large barn. Inside, the stable is filled with the golden light of evening. The light filters and shifts through a haze of dust motes and hay. I spy Arahimi at the far end. She whickers when she sees me.

"It's good to see you too." I whisper. She's been groomed, and fed, for which I am grateful. I make a mental note to write a thank-you note to the groomsman later.

"She's yours?"

"She was only for the journey. The horse I use for travel between Minas Tirith and Ithilien is a chestnut gelding; Honeylord. This is Arahimi."

"She's a fair horse..." He sighs. "She's too short for you, has a weak neck, a slight sway back, and is used to female riders. My guess is she's a training horse, or a palfrey that's occasionally used for courier work. She's not a bad horse. She just won't be any good for patrolling the kingdom. You're to join my troop."

"I get a new steed?"

He nods. "You do. Let us look at the available mounts."

We started looking. "Here are the horses we have that aren't owned yet, down this side." Several horses looked at us through dark, thoughtful eyes. "You need a tall horse, calm, strong, steady... warrior's horse." He looks at me, then back at the line of horses. Back at me, back at the horses. "I would say either Faralas, or Turiayl"

Faralas is a chestnut mare, and Turiayl is a grey stallion. Eomer leads them out. "We need to see how you ride."

"What does it matter? It is just a horse, it is not?"

"It is not just a horse!" He laughs. "This horse is your friend, you live together, act as one, they carry you out of danger, and charge with you into it." We leave the barn and into the cool light of the evening. He ties the stallion to the fence of a paddock, and leads the mare into the ring. "Come Faramir, mount up." I do so, and ride around the ring, focusing on staying on the horse. I haven't ridden bareback since I was very young, and never on a full-grown horse. I guide her around using my knees and my hands on the halter rope.

"How did I do?" I ask with a small smile as I stop next to him.

"Ah, fair, fair. You need to have a deeper seat. You often lean too far forward. And you don't move with the horse. The horse is a part of you." He continues correcting minor things in my form, and I listen. I change my position, and suddenly it feels like I was meant to ride. I follow Eomer's commands, and everything flows smoothly. Faralas is wonderful, doing everything I ask of her. I come to stop in front of Eomer, breathless with excitement.

"You are very good at this. You pick up new things easily. Try to jump the fence." I look at the fence apprehensively. It's only two feet high... but... My stomach twists a bit and my hands unconsciously tighten on the reins. The mare starts, and I rein her back in again. She tosses her head, still jumpy.

"Maybe not today..." Eomer says. I dismount, breathing in and out. We lead both the horses back to the stable. He shows me how to groom them, and we do.

As we're leaving, something dashes around the corner and rams into my legs. It turns out to be a child. He sit for a moment, mouth open in the shock of having run right into me. Sobs erupt from his tiny mouth and tears stream down his cheeks. I kneel down. "Are you alright?" I ask, concerned.

"I- My-" He continues sobbing. His knuckles looks scraped. I hold them up.

"Is this what happened?"

He nods, still snivelling.

"It's not very big; you'll be better tomorrow! Don't worry. Do you want to hear something amazing?" I ask. Without waiting for a reply, I trill like a bird. His eyes light up. I do it again, this time mixing in different bird calls.

He claps his chubby hands excitedly, his scrape all forgotten about. In an instant, I've taught him how to whistle, and he off, whistling his way home.

Eomer watches him go, then starts walking the the direction of the Hall. "I did not know you could make those songs."

I nod. "There are many birds in Ithilien. We use their calls to signal and talk to each other over distances."

"It is an admirable skill." He admits.

* * *

><p>I toss and turn. It is my own fault. I am uncomfortable, not the bed. My mind keeps going over my father's letter. I had been using Eomer's tour of the stables to distract me from the letter, but it was now the dead of night, and nothing was available to help me.<p>

How could he have known?

What did I do wrong?

I am so careful. All the time. Never keep, say, do, or even think anything suspicious. Laugh at the jokes, be manly, be the best, don't admire the flowers, the marketplace, fine jewelry, architecture, anything too much. I am constantly aware of how everything I say and do will be perceived. Any action I take could send me away. One of them did. I just can't think of any of my failures which would cause Father to know my secret.

I can't even say it to myself; how would he know?


	5. Chapter 5- Training

My breath fogs the air in front of me as I lead Turiayl, the stallion, after Hama. He got me up earlier than even I was used to getting up. And he was currently chattering away.

"So, Gondor has more hills right? And ocean, at Dol Amroth! We don't have ocean; our western border ends at the Gap of Rohan, and Fangorn, the forest. Some people say that the trees move and sway, without the wind. Like they're moving on their own. If trees were alive, I bet they'd be nice. I'd feel awful about chopping them up for firewood." He pauses, looking at me. "Are you tired or something?" He asks, concerned.

"A bit..." I say. I venture to make myself look more awake, as if I hadn't spent the night in thought. "Would you be willing to remind me of what we are doing today?" I rub my eyes and cover my yawn.

"Of course. I'm going to do a basic assessment of your horsemanship, then help you form a bond with Turiayl. And then you will be teaching me the art of the bow."

"What happened to Faralas?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I think she was taken out last night on a messenger mission." I follow him out of the city to a large pasture. A single draft horse awaits us. He blinks calmly at us and our own mounts. "This is Hargafin." Hama smiles at the draft horse, who ambles over to us. "He's old, and fairly steady, so you'll be able to work with him. We want you to be able to practice on him before you practice with Turialy. Turialy will be able to see you doing things on Hargafin, and learn to trust you by what you do. Tie him to the fence over there, where he can see us, and come over with me."

I looped, then tied the lead rein to the fence, making sure the stallion had enough room to move. He blinked at me, and I walked over to Hama and the other two steeds. "Always mount your horse on the left side. That's how we train them, and it would confuse them otherwise. Just copy what I do." I watch carefully as he vaults onto his mare's back. I copy his motions, placing my hands down, then pushing up and swinging my legs over. He moves forward, and I follow him around the ring carefully, trying to stay awake. The sun is a yellowish smudge on the horizon, barely rising. I struggle to remember what Eomer had told me the day before.

The first part of the training only serves to make me more tired. I want to understand the ways of the Rohirrim. I do. I remind myself of this and strive to listen to Hama. "You ride well enough. But do you trust your horse enough for these?"

He dismounts, then places his hands on his steed's back. He pushes up until his arms are straight, then leans forward until he's horizontal. He continues rising. _He's doing a handstand. _I think in awe. He then walks on his hands down the horse's back, then up again to the middle, all the while smiling at me. He comes back down slowly, still on his hands. "That's- the-" He takes a deep breath. "That's the hardest part, being controlled. If you're not controlled, you lose trust in your horse. You get this fear that you're going too fast, and you get off balance, and it does not work well."

Hama's started up his chatter again.

The sun is shining far above us when we cease riding. Hama keeps on babbling about things. "Men in Gondor have shorter hair like yours?" He queries.

I nod. "Yes."

"Tie it back. Then it won't get caught in anything." He gives me a piece of thin leather, and I force my hair to submit. My mind wanders to my brother. He ties the top half of his hair back. I half-smile.

_Faramir, it's so that I can see._ I remember him saying. _Then why do your bangs still hang in your face? _I always replied. He just laughs and calls me little brother. I am not that anymore. I miss it.

I corrected the young boy again. "You can't face forward when shooting, otherwise you pull straight into your chest. You don't get the full draw that way. If you turn sideways, you can pull all the way back. When you turn sideways, you can also use your back muscles to help you draw. Think of pinching your shoulder blades together, not just pulling your arm back." He sighs, but does as I say. His draw significantly improves, but he releases the string, and it flies past his forearm. He hisses indignantly in pain. "Don't dry fire, ever." I remind him. "And you need to keep a slight angle at your shoulder joint. If you keep your left arm straight, the string is right up against your arm, and will rub it as you release. I've received many bruises that way."

"Is there any way that I _might_ have the string up against my arm?" He's testing me.

"Yes. If you do reverse shots, you will have the string close to your arm. Most archers use an inner bracer, or just turn their whole bodies around for that."

"But what if I am mounted, and I need to shoot behind me?"

"I am not acquainted with mounted archers. You would need very good aim, I assume. Aim... is not... your strong suit at the moment.."

He sighs woefully. "It is not. I cannot stand right, nor shoot yet. How do you make it look so easy?"

"I have been practicing since I was small. Seven, if I am correct." I had taken up archery because it wasn't something Boromir did. If Boromir didn't do it, I had a chance to be good at it. And if I was good at it, maybe I could impress my father. That had been the idea, at least when I was little. Now I just wanted to keep my secrets.


	6. Chapter 6- Evening Market

After the hours spent trying to get Hama to succeed at archery, I went back to my quarters. I put the bow on the table, and unstrung it. Setting the string aside, I ran my hands over the simple curves of the bow, to ensure that no cracks had formed. After retying the hand grip, I check the string, to make sure it wasn't thin in spots. The string was still supple as well, which meant it would be elastic, and not brittle and prone to breaking. I wrap it in the oil cloth. The arrows are in good condition as well. The heads don't have any unwanted chipping, and the shafts are straight. The feather fletching is smooth and not loose.

I am almost done when there's a knock on the carved door. "Please come in." I answer, standing to open it. Two steps away, and it opens on its own to reveal Eomer. I smile cordially. He smiles back.

"Faramir! How was your day with Hama?" He motions me out into the hall, and we walk out of the court and into the cool air of the evening market.

"It was well. Hama is learning the skills of the bow rather well, although he is over eager to learn skills he is not yet capable of." I answer.

Eomer laughs. "He is often like that. He tried to ride a full grown horse when he was four. Hama... Hama, Hama." He scrapes his hair back and binds it with a leather tie. I find myself staring at his movements, and look away.

The evening market stalls are bright and colorful, with strings of pennants fluttering in the breeze. Lanterns are lit as the night deepens. "We'll get you your own saddle, and riding kit, along with a spear, and the proper clothing. You can't ride around in full armor like that." He motions to my heavy chain mail and padded armor.

"Why ever not?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "Because." He smiles at the passing people, the young women, and few of the men glancing shyly and blushing furiously. I catch not a few looks cast in my own direction. This thought warms my heart, as I idly wait for Eomer to finish talking with a produce seller. Eomer liked talking to these people... because they were his. He doesn't have to worry about what to say, because he knows they won't mind.

I worry almost incessantly about saying the right thing, the right way. I envy Eomer's ease. "Faramir?" I hear him say.

"I- Yes?"

"You were daydreaming. Night dreaming. In the middle of the market dreaming." He said. "Come, we must get to the armorer's stall." He strides off through the crowd of milling people. I scramble to keep up with him.

The armorer's stall is large, and is adjacent to the blacksmiths shop. The blacksmith is putting a few finishing touches on a dagger, while the armorer rearranges some of his wares. "Evening Belfund." Eomer smiles.

"Evening Eomer. Here to get the armor for your new man?" The armorer seems mellow and kind. He turns, and pulls some leather armor out of a case. "How have you been Eomer? You're heading out tomorrow yes?"

"I am. Oh, we also need a saddle for Faramir." Eomer mentions with a smile. The only sound for a while is Belfund's humming and the crackle of the blacksmith's fire. "Faramir, you need a spear, go requisition Garfast for one."

He must mean the blacksmith. I think frantically. I cobble together something coherent to say as I shuffle over. Garfast smiles at me. "What can I help you with?"

"I would like to request a spear. A long one. For riding." I nervously tack on a few extra words, not looking Garfast in the eyes. I finally do, and the sooty man smiles.

"No need to be nervous. I'm a blacksmith, not a scary uncle. Now, you want a riding lance." He disappears into the gloomy interior of the shop for a moment before emerging, face flushed from the waves of heat issuing from the coals. The spear he holds is long, and the edge is as keen as a new-wrought blade. I take it. It is lighter than I thought it would be, and carrying it is not a hard task. "Anything else you need?" He asks, kindly.

I steel myself. "Do you have bowstring oil?"

He shakes his head. "Alas, I do not. Ask Lady Fletcher, she'll have some. Will cost you a pretty penny though, she drives a hard bargain that one..." He sighs with a smile. "Hard to win at love too." His dark eyes go dreamy in the flickering lantern lights as he picks her out from across the evening market. "Ohh Merlind. Would that you loved me. But alas, you do not!"

I smile detachedly at his antics. "Thank you for the spear." I set it next to Eomer. "I must seek out bowstring oil. I am running out, and it's vital to using a bow." He nods.

"Alright. I'm almost done with Belfund. I'll wait for you here."

I carefully wind through the people, tense with not wanting to mess up around the people of Rohan. Lady Fletcher smiles at me. "Ahh. I see you're the new man in town. From Gondor? Mmmm. You're a reserved one... quiet... shy. You do have a nice bow. I saw it as you came in. Very nice wood, well kept too. I bet you're looking for new arm guards. No? What about... goat sinew? For strings? Works better than cow or horse honestly. Stretchier. No, none of those? Pity. I have too many for my liking. Well, spit it out, what will you have?"

Taking a deep breath, I requested the item. She nodded. "Of course. Just pay me, and I'll get it to you first thing tomorrow morning. Before you leave." I pay hesitantly after she names the price, and listen to her incessant chatter for another minute before politely excusing myself.

Eomer is waiting for me, arms folded. "Here, carry your stuff. I"m turning in. After you return you things, you can come back down here to party, you can sleep, or you can listen to Eowyn just labor over the lute." He rolls his eyes as he mentions his sister's lute playing, then yawns, walking off. I gather up my things and trot after him.

(okay! so i went to save this and it deleted itself! good job! luckily i had it somewhere else. i'm sorry this has been so long in coming, i've been incredibly busy. i didn't want to write a really crappy chapter, so i did it in tiny bits, so it would turn out better. thank you for waiting.)


	7. Chapter 7- The Lute

After packing for tomorrow as I had been commanded earlier, I sneak out to the Great Hall. Above the dim crackling of the already banked fire is the thin strumming of the lute. I walked toward the sound. The Lady Eowyn plays languidly, staring into the embers. Her fingers move almost without thought. I remain a respectful distance away until she notices my appearance.

She rises, blonde hair swaying like a curtain of purest gold. She inclines her head. "Lord Faramir. I did not notice your presence. I hope my playing was to your liking."

I smile gently. "It was, fair lady."

"Do you play?" She queries. I nod, and she offers the instrument to me. I sigh as I settle it carefully in my grip. It's a bit smaller than anything I'd ever practiced on. I still hesitate before touching the strings. I was self-taught... in secret, of course. Lute isn't high on "List of Manly Activities", from Gondor. I awkwardly strum out a few notes before playing a few measures. I stop, resettle the lute, then play again. Eowyn is humming along with the simple tune I manage to carry.

This piece of time is perfect. Warm, pleasing, it is a hollow of peace cut out of my troubles.

* * *

><p>Eomer's POV<p>

He takes the lute hesitantly, awkwardly even. My sister hums to help him along, and soon he's plucking out simple, yet mournful melody. He is intent on watching his fingers, and does not recognize my nearby presence. Eowyn does though, and she smiles at me. She glides over, her waterfall of hair moving silently with her, the last ray of sunshine I see each day. "He is fair, is he not?" She asks, a knowing half smile gracing her face. I nod.  
>"He is fair, I will concede that. He is strong, and will be a good addition to my group of men." I whisper.<p>

"I feel sorry for him."

I nod in agreement, then speak again. "He is often troubled by something; dark shadows pass over his face. I wonder what haunts him." I muse. It is my own guess that he was not expecting his father to leave him in another country, far from anyone he knew, and he's worried about that. He seemed fairly normal before he came. For my own part, I wonder where his gaze and heart lie.

Is it with men?

Is it with women?

He seems too caught up in his own troubles to care about either. I walk back to my room, smiling at members of the household in passing. They bow respectfully, although they all know they don't need to. The wooden floors and stone walls echo back my footsteps, and seemingly my thoughts.

How will our patrol go? Is Faramir ready? Are my men ready? What about the growing number of Orcs? What about the border villages? Is the Pass safe? What about our northern border? What's out in the wasteland between the mountains and the Great Mirkwood Forest? Will it harm us? All these thoughts and more run through my mind as I begin making sure I have all the right armor and clothing and weapons for tomorrow. As I am doing this, Eowyn slips in. I smile at her.

"Faramir plays the lute well. He says he taught himself." She says.

I nod. "He is not bad. He seemed happy enough, doing it."

"Aye, he was. Have you ever had the pleasure of going to Gondor, brother?" My sister settles into one of my chairs, which is warm from the fire it sits in front of. The glow lights up her face and hair, softening her, until she reminds me of my mother. I am fond of my sister.

"I have not. Theodred has gone though. He will be back here in a few days, as he is relieved of patrol duties by me." I answer. She shifts and straightens her dress.

"I have heard it is different from here. I do not think I would like it."

"Why is that?" I ask curiously.

"I... I have heard that women are to be seen, not heard there. Women do not have a voice. We are used for mothers and wives there. Here, we may do as we please, and we have a voice in the counsels of the city. Although we cannot ride with the men, we are still trained in the arts of the bow, and of the horse, that we may defend our home if need be." She is proud of Rohan, this beautiful country we were both brought up in, as am I.

"Nay, that does not sound like a place you would enjoy. Now, I need to get to bed. See me off in the morning yes?" I wait for her to agree.

She finally slides out after giving me a swift hug.


	8. Chapter 8- The Beginning

Faramir

I woke slowly. I lay in my bed for a few minutes, but after I realized it was just as cold as the rest of the room, I stood. Squinting in the dark, I find my clothing and pull the pieces on. The armor is cool and unfamiliar, and it settles strangely on my body. Soft sounds shuffle throughout the rest of the Hall and town as I make my way out to the stables, and to Turiayl. So far, I am only having trouble with the spear. I have never handled a full length spear before. The early morning cold seeps into my fingers, and by the time I get to the stables, I'm worried I won't be able to let go of the spear.

I should have guessed Rohan would be cooler than Gondor. I wrap my green cloak tighter around me as I greet Turiayl. He softly wickers and nudges his nose into my hand. I pet him softly with one hand, the other still grasping the spear. I wriggle my fingers, manage to loosen them with a grunt, and lay the spear aside. I saddle my horse, clouds of steam rising around us. Other men from the troop led their horses out into the pale early sunlight, and soon I am the only one left. I hurriedly fumble with the last strap, and smile when it finally cinches in place. I follow the last few horseman out to the front gates.

The frosted grass crunches like dried parchment under our feet and the hooves of our horses. The air is crisp, and it sears my lungs. I mount up with the rest of the troop, leaning the butt of the spear against outcropping of my left stirrup. Eomer mounts up and faces us. His brave face is alight with the pale dawn, and his helmet rests under his arm, shining. A howling wind bites into us, and we all shiver. The horses shift. Armor clinks as we wait for Eomer to speak.

"Men of Rohan! Today, we ride north towards the Limlight. Faramir, ride with me, the rest of you spread out." The riders disperse in a long line, about a thousand feet between riders, close enough for communication, but far enough so that we cover ground efficiently. We use a similar technique in Ithilien to scout a large area. I moved in beside Eomer. "You wished for me?"

He nods. "I did. Whenever I take a new man into my troop, I normally have them ride with me so they can get a feel for how this is all done, and so that I can tell them why I do things the way I do. Although I'm sure you'll have no problem following orders?" He arches an eyebrow.

I shook my head fervently, gulping. "None. None at all." The words are an echo of some my father would say repeatedly, an unspoken threat. You won't have a problem following orders? And the unspoken words that came after: Because if you do... I have never disobeyed, for I was never eager to find out what happened. Turiayl and I press forward to stay even with Eomer.

"Good. So tell me, how is the army arranged in Gondor?"

"There are four divisions, the Guard, the Calvary, the Infantry, and the Rangers. We have many types of soldiers: archers, swordsmen, men who manage the ballistae, etc. Each of those men is assigned to a certain division, with a troop number. There are 100 Guard troops of thirty men each, ten Calvary groups of twenty each, 100 Infantry groups of 100 each, and twenty Ranger groups, of twenty-five each. I am the Captain of the Fifth Troop, Ranger's Division, and I was stationed in Ithilien." I grow softer, thinking about my men. Our breath clouds around us and the horses huff as we trot over the stale, hard ground.

"Rangers are archers?" He prompts.

I shake my head. "Not necessarily. Each troop of each division has a different percentage of each kind of warriors. So a Ranger troop is typically eighteen archers, four horsemen, and three swordsmen. An Infantry group might have sixty footmen, twenty spear men, and twenty horseman, or some variation thereof. The percentage of each type of warrior is based on the group's needs."

He yawns, the line of his strong jaw illuminated in the early sun. A tingle rises in my stomach, and I fiercely squash it down until it pools and mixes with the guilt. "Sound incredibly interesting..." He yawns again. "Our army is simple. We have horses. We ride them. Done." He waves his hand through the pale rays of light to punctuate his point.

I swallowed and tightened my grip on my spear. "How long will the patrol last?"

Eomer thought. "About two months. We go back for the Festival of Horses, the main Rohirrim Festival." Well, something I could make sense of through the muddle of feelings and thoughts that came rushing through my head. Rohan's Festival of Horses- a traditional festival in which the horses are decorated with the last of the summer's flowers and paraded through the streets under the brilliant moonlight. Sounds fun. Or more like social torture. My breath smokes out into the air. It mingles with Turiayl's breath and the green grass that waves under the sunshine, which is growing brighter by the moment.

As the day continued, I grew slightly more comfortable with the Rohirrim men. They were much less... confined than the men of Gondor. They were dazzlingly honest, but with a simple, careful grace that soaked their every activity. I became more used to their free gestures, and speech, as well as the seemingly barren country of Rohan.


End file.
